The Accidental Archmage: Book Nine: The Dragon Houses

by Edmund A. M. Batara

The rumors were right. Dark gods gave him guardians, thought the stunned Titan. He had never seen such a diverse assembly of spirits. Some were quite powerful, and ghastly forms shrouded most of such entities.

  The attacking pack tried to stop in mid-air, their serpentine wings flapping desperately to arrest their descent. That conscious reaction made Perses consider some intelligence to be among the brood’s qualities, at least for this kind. The drakene sensed the explosion of energy and perceptibly recognized the new threat.

  Considering that the creatures heedlessly threw themselves against the Titan and his army, the reluctance to engage spoke volumes of the power of Lumeri’s massed guardians. He stole a glance at the Scribe, eyeing the cursed immortal with new respect and trepidation. The visitor sensed his attention and glanced at him with a meaningful smile. Persis’s pride forced him to respond with a faint smirk, yet his mind recoiled at the threat the Scribe represented. Lumeri was a passive yet formidable menace, he concluded warily. It was an observation that came with the resolve to find a counter for such power.

  In the air above the pair, the swarming cloud of spirits had reached the draconic shapes. The draken pack was miserably trying to turn and flee. But there was only so much a diving mass could do – stopping and changing direction with large, broad wings wasn’t one of them. A confused vista of awkwardly flapping wings and contorted movements filled the Titan’s sight.

  As the air which bore the deadly creatures aloft betrayed them and refused a swift retreat, the amorphous mass quickly engulfed the struggling draken. The cloud momentarily thickened, hiding from view what was happening. Then a blush of blood-ren hue flashed from within, and the ethereal assembly vanished. Of their prey, no trace could be seen. Not even a tiny bone was falling from the sky.

  The Scribe turned to him as if nothing happened. He looked at the impassive Persis who was struggling to hide his shock. Lumeri waited a few moments and then spoke.

  “What now, Great Titan? A quest to fulfill, or a task left undone?” asked the immortal, a slight amusement staining the query.

  ***

  Perses stared at the Scribe, reflecting that for all his vaunted knowledge, some things are still hidden from the immortal. With a jolt of realization, he recognized that Lumeri chronicled events and phenomena of import, but never delved behind the stories. In that sense, the recorder’s sense of history was almost as bland as pita bread.

  The Scribe focused on descriptions, and the real tales fell by the wayside. The Titan wondered if millennia of such activity had also shaped how the cursed human looked upon the world and life. Even deities knew how to live. The myths are full of their deeds, the true and not-so-true. Shrugging off his observations, Perses thought carefully about how he would say what was already in his mind after Lumeri told him of the defeat of Iapetus.

  “My word is my bond. I’ll obey the last command given me, and then make my own way in this world. Mayhap others of my more intelligent brethren were out in the world when Tartarus reverted to being what it was. Taking the knee before that traitorous excuse for a Titan! I’ll break his tail first before I shove it down his monstrous throat and out the other orifice!” Perses replied hotly. The idea of Typhoeus ruling his brethren galled him. An oafish monster-god who already lost a world and just got beaten in the present war by all accounts.

  “A rogue, then?”

  “A lone wolf.”

  “I believe the prophecies have given that title to the mortal Archmage,” said Lumeri.

  “Really? I have to see if such a description is truly warranted,” replied the Titan interestedly. The curious fact of the rise of a mortal Archmage after such a long period and in tumultuous circumstances didn’t escape him.

  Interesting, he thought.

  “If you survive this land. But a rudderless rogue you shall be,” remarked the Scribe pointedly.

  “I’ve gone through worse. Tartarus was not without its dangers in the infancy of our imprisonment. Rudderless? My grievance with the Olympians remains, even if I have to wage it alone,” snapped Perses.

  “A quest to be fulfilled it is then. I will be back, watching the conclusion of your journey,” nodded Lumeri. “Further hurdles await you, and the draken tribes won’t give up their meal easily.”

  “Meal?”

  “My apologies. I forgot. You are not of the Norse pantheon. But I may share this knowledge,” came the chuckled comment.

  The Scribe told Persis that Odin brought Fenrir over during the Great Migration but left the dangerous spirit in its original chains. The feared entity was hidden in the Sleeping Isle, shrouded with the most potent spell the Allfather could devise. But he didn’t count on the nature of the island. Lumeri reasoned that the god could be excused for such oversight – none of the arriving deities knew anything about their adopted world. What appealed to the Norse deity were the myriad dangers of the land which made the twin possibilities of discovery and a rescue well-nigh impossible.

  Yet time and the peculiar trait of the isle had eroded and removed the magical cover. The drakene were feeding off the giant wolf, just enough not to kill it outright. Then they let it regain mass, repeating the cycle over and over again. Somehow, they maintained the magic around Fenrir, including the power of the dwarven-forged chains that bound the monster.

  “Then it would just be a gigantic wolf when we get there. All these for that? A self-healing one, I admit, but with none of its original abilities. The land, its chains, and what it was suffering would have wreaked havoc on its being. It could be insane by now,” scoffed Perses. “Not to mention we have to fight our way back and somehow find a way off this island.”

  “Don’t call Fenrir an it. He is Loki’s son, after all,” said Lumeri with an arched eyebrow.

  Another curst revelation, thought Perses with dismay. Fortuna must be sleeping well.

  “I didn’t know. But myths of other pantheons were never my forte. Since the Titanomachy, my task has always been to fight. Tartarus merely added to an unchanging burden,” offered Perses apologetically. His mind flashed to Loki’s presence in the prison underworld and the artifact he now carried. To him, the relationship explained the Norse deity’s involvement. But he wondered why Iapetus hid that knowledge from him. All the leader of the Titans said was that Fenrir was the bane of Odin.

  “Time for me to leave, Great Perses. Another momentous event calls me southward,” said Lumeri.

  “Ta Leme, Scribe. With you, it’s never goodbye. It has to be till we meet again,” grinned Perses. After witnessing what the cursed immortal was capable of, he could afford to be friendly. Perhaps an oversight or a stray comment would enable him to find Lumeri’s weakness.

  The Scribe bowed and started to disappear. Then his form solidified again. The Titan saw the shift but remained silent.

  “It’s a long and dangerous way through the waiting hills and mountains, Perses. You may want to look at what a branching gorge could offer once you cross the large hill directly in your path. Or you could follow your original plan of keeping to the ravines. Another question then – the way of the crooked stick, or the straight spear,” smiled Lumeri meaningfully.

  The listening Titan mechanically nodded, wondering whether the advice was worth it and greatly astounded that the Scribe would give such a suggestion. It was unheard of.

  ***

  Harsh daylight greeted Perses as he turned into the passage, followed by the remnants of his force. His scouts had already cleared the way, and thankfully, the twisting maze of the large cave complex offered minimal danger. They found the cave at the end of the gorge mentioned by Lumeri. As it was toward the magical locus Perses had sensed, he decided to enter the underground hollow.

  Only a colony of creatures that looked like beetles crossed with spiders posed a threat during their journey of roughly a day and a half. But for once, their attackers were significantly smaller compared to the intruders’ giant forms. The largest was about the size of a human child. Though their numbers made up for the
disparity in proportions, the attacking waves were easily torn apart by the Laestrygonians’ practiced drills and crushed by the savage attacks of the Kýklōpes.

  Perses stepped out to a ledge overlooking a narrow valley. Immense trees covered the cave exit, and the crouching Titan saw that the sides of the valley were also covered with islands of green. Massive half-buried boulders were the only places the woods didn’t claim. Far below was a colossal creature lying on its side, bound with enormous yet narrow silvery chains tied to a massive oak.

  Fenrir, thought Perses.

  Yet as he examined their surroundings, everything appeared normal. He could even hear birds among the treetops. Considering what was waiting below, the entire situation was unnatural. The Titan raised his hand in the cave’s direction. Some giants had already exited and taken up positions around them. His hand signal stopped further movement from his forces. Everything looked so ordinary that all he could conclude was that something was wrong.

  ***

  He closed his eyes and reached out to the ether, feeling the pulse of the area’s magical energy. Abruptly, a painful backlash hit Perses, forcing him back and nearly throwing him on the ground. There was an immense concentration of magic around them – an intricate and potent spell of illusion. The strands of the conjuration were familiar, though his brief foray into its midst didn’t break the imagery.

  A quick series of gestures and his army quickly emptied into the open, arrayed and ready for battle. The armored Laestrygonians were again at the front while the Kýklōpes dropped the provisions they carried in organized piles and took their place behind the wall of aspides and dorata. The enormous strength of the latter served them well as baggage carriers.

  Perses didn’t know who or what was waiting for them, but it was clear they were expected. His army now stood tall above the trees, the defensive arrangement trampling and uprooting vegetation. Even that part was suspect. The real face of the terrain was still hidden from him.

  We’re virtually blind, concluded the Titan morosely. The only things which might be real would be the shape of the valley and Fenrir. He was the bait that was supposed to goad us into a headlong rush. It might still come to that risk.

  A thunderous roar of laughter suddenly echoed through the valley. The unnatural voice cruelly grated on one’s hearing, and its growling nature shook the bones. A series of snarls and rumbling guffaws followed. The din sounded uncanny, as if the human sound was forced through unwilling throat muscles. Yet none appeared as the owners of the brazen and insulting howls.

  “Defense column, double march to the valley floor!” he shouted.

  Speed was now of the essence, and the phalanx was not the proper formation in broken terrain and against a yet unseen foe. Thankfully, he had the foresight to instruct the Laestrygonians to eschew heavy armor and wear the lighter spolades, or leather laminated corselets. He expected rough terrain, but not a land as bizarre and unforgiving as the Sleeping Isle.

  ***

  Perses was mentally prepared for a brutal gauntlet as the formation made its hasty, clamorous way to the valley floor. The ground shook under the thudding weight of the giant marching feet. The clang and rustle of armor and weapons added to the deafening noise. The Titan assessed it would take them several minutes to descend even if they weren’t attacked.

  The army moved at its usual marching pace, struggling to maintain a solid formation despite the craggy, inclined slope. Perses was more than well-versed in the ways of war. But even at that reasonable speed, he didn’t expect his force to maintain its close cohesion. They were in the middle of a powerful illusion where only the rocky ground made sense. Gaps were already forming in the rushing column, not only because of the uneven terrain but because of invisible obstacles in their path. An armored giant or a one-eyed brute would suddenly fall or tumble, victims of boulders hidden by the spell.

  Yet no attack came, though the rush was attended by an increase in the volume of the freakish laughter. Not even the thunderous din of armored feet on the rocky ground could drown out the bizarre chorus of inhuman, raspy, and menacing cackles. Even as he moved with his army, Perses noted that there appeared to be many creatures who were enjoying the spectacle. It was ridiculously insulting, but he’d trade such scorn and humiliation for the opportunity to fight on flat ground. Hoplite formations were of little use in mountainside battles.

  Finally, the assembly reached the barren floor of the small valley. On the far side was the entity they were expected to rescue. But if Fenrir noticed them, he gave no sign and remained lying on his side. After a quick examination of the motionless mountain of a white wolf, Perses looked to dressing the ranks of his forces. Stragglers were still arriving, but those who reached the valley floor first had already arranged themselves in the familiar dorata and aspides hedgehog formation.

  A lot bigger than Kerberos, observed Perses as his eyes continued to sweep over the surrounding area. Yet the unusual torpor of Fenrir made him suspect a magical incantation at play. Their clamorous arrival should have warranted at least a glance, yet the mountain of a beast still had its back to them. I hope Loki’s rune took that spell into account.

  The enemy still had not revealed itself. But the Titan was sure of one thing – powerful magic was at play. It still had not shown its leering grin, but it was but a matter of time. Once again, he was reminded of the continuous drain on his magical abilities. Yet as Perses took stock of himself, he noticed that something had changed. A trickle of energy was coming back. It was a thin stream, but it was steady. His spirits rose.

  The illusion surrounding them suddenly vanished. Gone was the greenery surrounding the barren valley floor. All Perses could see was an arid, rocky vale where the only tree was the massive oak that served as an anchor for Fenrir’s chains. It was singularly tall, dwarfing the supine form of the Great Wolf. Even that tree, he suspected, was a magical construct. Whether it was of Odin’s creation or of the draken race didn’t matter. What was important was that the rune he carried should and must work. They’d all be back to the ether otherwise. Violently and painfully.

  Yet whatever optimism he felt at the renewed flow of magical energy dissipated at the distressing scene greeting his eyes. Watching their much-reduced army was a multitude of menacing draken shapes, all perched on the mountainside. As a warrior, the Titan realized that all the previous draken attacks were cunningly intended to wear them down and reduce their numbers. He wouldn’t be surprised if their enemy had already formed assumptions about how his army fought.

  My mistake. I prematurely concluded that they were mere beasts, reflected Perses as his mind raced to find a solution to their terminal predicament.

  At first glance, it was a hopeless cause. But he wasn’t intimidated. Numbers alone do not a battle make. And he was the one deciding how it would be fought: no Typhoeus, Iapetus, or any of his race deluding themselves as war or battle deities. The agile and battle-tested instincts of the Titan assessed their situation, quickly sifting through courses of action. One thing was sure – he couldn’t use whatever tactics adopted during their hard-fought trek. Perses assumed the enemy knew the style and manner he had used.

  His army was vastly outnumbered, but the phalanx was intended to let an onrushing tide of non-hoplite attackers impale themselves on the leaf-shaped spearheads of the waiting dorata. Against a hoplite army, it would be the pushing contest known as othismos. The sharpened sauroter, or butt-spike, of the proportionally sized lances made for an additional short spear or javelin when the action got close and a splintered dory had exacted blood. Add to that the usual sword, and the Laestrygonians proved murderously efficient indeed. The massive clubs of the Kýklōpes dealt with those who survived or escaped the thirsty spears.

  The formation was great for static defense. But he had to assume that the draken packs had figured out its weak points. To mass the storm of spears to the front would weaken the sides and he didn’t have the numbers to present a wide killing frontage. The distance to the
Great Wolf was about two miles in his estimation, and the terrain was relatively flat. It should be a quick advance, considering their giant proportions. But to advance as a phalanx would expose the flanks of his army. Given the numbers he saw, together with their speed and ferocity, the beasts could quickly come at them from the sides while pinning down their front. Perses knew the conventional way was suicide.

  Calling over his section leaders, Perses outlined his plan of battle, drawing sketches on the dusty ground. Then he repeated the details, making sure everybody understood what he wanted to happen. As his subordinates went back to the army to organize the warriors according to his wishes, his eyes went back to the sleeping white mountain in the distance. The Titan didn’t have an idea of how they were going to leave the island, other than fighting their way back. Hopefully, with most of his force intact and a colossal hulk of an awake and ferocious white wolf as company. If Fenrir’s magical abilities returned, that would be ideal. If not, he wasn’t averse to riding it back to the sea.

  ***

  The army set off, adopting the usual defensive formation – a column of three lines, armored hoplites at the sides and front, with the brutish Kýklōpes in the middle. The pace was still in march order. Running at full armor wasn’t a good idea. His warriors would just arrive at the point of contention exhausted and at less than ideal fighting form. Full speed was reserved for the charge where the momentum would drive their point home.

  When movement started, led by the Titan in the front ranks, draken began flying from the adjacent peaks. Perses expected it. A familiar feeling of exhilaration, of the thrill of battle, rose in him. He glanced back and saw it mirrored in the faces of the column. An expectant grin appeared on his features.

  I am a Titan. A deity of destruction. Of war. Of battle, came the euphoric thought. Lizards don’t matter to me.

  As the soaring creatures neared, the middle line of the advancing force sprouted long lances. The Kýklōpes had brought out the spare spears taken from fallen hoplites. They were not expected to be experts in the weapon, but using them to fend off airborne reptiles was simple enough. Perses had already anticipated the danger of warriors being snapped up by the windborne beasts. It had happened in their first battles, and he swore it won’t happen again. It wasn’t an honorable way to die, being dropped like a rock from a great height.